


Answers, Distractions and People You Can Count On

by feeisamarshmallow



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, F/M, didn't know whether to tag this as WeeVer or not, slight AU, still fits into canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 07:56:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7352542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feeisamarshmallow/pseuds/feeisamarshmallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for vmficrecs June 2016 prompts over on tumblr: Setting: Museum, Trope: Friends With Benefits, Prompt: Tragic flaws. A kind of AU post AttD fic that inserts a passage of time between Weevil picking Veronica up from Logan's, and Lianne's return. A casefic, a look at why Weevil and Veronica never came to be, and an exploration of Veronica's feelings towards her parent's relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Answers, Distractions and People You Can Count On

**Author's Note:**

> Written for vmficrecs June 2016 prompts. This is both the longest fic I've attempted so far, and my first shot at a casefic. It's also unbeta'd. The prompt was: Setting: Museum Trope: Friends with Benefits Prompt: Tragic Flaws. I also want to mention that I don't hate Logan! But since this takes place in Veronica's point of view directly after AttD she understandably is not viewing him in the best of light. And something about Weevil and Veronica is so compelling, I wanted to explore why they never did try it as a couple.
> 
> The characters are not mine (with the exception of the Goodleafs). All credit goes to Rob Thomas and the television network. Enjoy!

Veronica tramps up the stairs and pushes the door open into Mars Investigations. The multi-coloured streams of afternoon light coming through the stained glass windows temporarily blind her as she heads towards her desk. Keith’s door is closed, and Veronica can hear the low rumble of his voice through the paned glass door. Another, slightly higher, nervous voice counters Keith’s steady inquiries. Cheating wife, Veronica categorizes idly. Upper-middle class judging by the jacket left hanging at the door. 

Veronica follows her ritual of checking messages and organizing papers. When she has finished her secretarial tasks and can still hear the muted rise and fall of voices behind the door, Veronica opens her laptop, haphazardly clicking through her Lilly Kane murder file. With increasing intensity, she searches for some overlooked clue to distract her mind. She purposefully does not look through today’s paper, does not seek today’s classifieds and notices of legal proceeding. 

Veronica is about to pull out her calculus books and start her math assignment when she hears the lock pop on Keith’s door. She shoots her dad a questioning look as he exits with his client, trying to understand the reason for his lengthy meeting. Keith replies with his face blank and impossible to read. The client, whom Keith leads to the door, looks to be about his age, but the similarities start and end there. While her dad is well built with the beginning of middle-age paunch, this man is wiry to the point of looking like he may topple over. He has a number of inches on Keith, but Veronica figures even she could easily take this man in a fight.The man’s watery blue eyes look bewildered as Keith shakes his hand and guides him out the door. Veronica fixes her father with a questioning face after he has shut the door. 

“What?” Keith responds, playing oblivious to Veronica’s desperate need for distraction. 

“So what is it? Wife probably—adulterer?” 

Keith walks around the corner to the fridge. “Nope,” he calls out, relishing a case that was in fact not a bail jumper or a cheating spouse. 

“Ooh so it’s a juicy one.” Veronica claps her hands together in mimed excitement. Keith laughs at his daughter’s reaction mirroring his own. 

“That man,” Keith starts, savouring the last seconds of having information his daughter doesn’t have, “is the curator of the Neptune County Museum.” 

~~ 

“Watcha doin’, V?” Wallace greets her as he moves to sit down at their lunch table.

Veronica looks up from her folder full of papers, “Trying to make some sense of this case.” Wallace keeps quiet, waiting for Veronica to elaborate. “The Neptune County Museum curator came in last night,” she begins.

Wallace raises his eyebrows in response, “we have a museum—isn’t this town less than, like, 100 years old?”

“That’s what I thought,” she replies. “I’m thinking it’s less of a museum and more of an ego-scratcher for the founding 09er families,” she finishes dryly.

Wallace laughs at her observation. Looking around the lunch tables, the scene of Neptune high’s cafeteria only seems to mirror Veronica’s observation. The tables, the courtyard—all shiny new, yet somehow fake-looking. The 09ers lounging with their pizza and takeout looking like stock photo models of the pristine, white, rich American High School. Even with all the outsiders gathered around the outskirts—Veronica and Wallace, some of his other basketball friends, the 02ers through 06ers, the PCHers—it still feels like the scene was built for the 09ers in the centre.

“Is the guy who runs it an 09er?” Wallace asks, curious if the guy belongs to the group he’s ego-stroking, or simply eager to someday be a part.

“More or less,” Veronica answers distractedly, nose back in the file folder in front of her. “He thinks someone’s stealing his stuff. Artifacts—a few of them seem to go missing every week, but he doesn’t want to involve the police. Bad for publicity, and good for us.” Veronica looks far away in thought, simultaneously mulling through four or five pieces of the case at the same time.

“But…” Wallace prompts.

“He suspects the night-time custodian, but from the preliminary searches it seems unlikely.

"What’s this guy’s name again?” Wallace asks, “seems shady to not want to involve the police in the theft of public goods.” 

“Steven Goodleaf” she answers distractedly. 

“No relation to Mya Goodleaf?” 

At that comment Veronica jerks up from her work and fixes her eyes on Wallace. “Who?” she asks, with an urgency she reserves for working on cases.

“Mya Goodleaf—tall, blond, volleyball player? Probably one of the hottest girls at Neptune High?” 

“Our grade?” Veronica questions, rapid-fire.

“I think she’s a sophomore, but if she was our age…”

Veronica cuts him off, “and she’s related to Steven?”

“I think she’s his daughter.”

“Hm, perfect.” Veronica says, back deep into her own thoughts. “Thanks Wallace, you’re the best.” Veronica gets up to leave, packing up her books and file, snagging the apple off of Wallace’s lunch tray.

“Anytime” he says, meaning it, and then adding, “especially if it means I’ll get to meet Mya.”

Veronica looks back at him, smiling and shaking her head. 

~~

Veronica mulls the case over as she sits in Newspaper class. Technically, her dad has only told her she could help by keeping an eye online for items matching those stolen. But Veronica needs a distraction—from the wall that seemed to be stopping her from getting anywhere on Lilly’s case, from her dad’s potential divorce, from her complicated feelings for Logan.

It’s still possible the thief is the night janitor, as assumed. Laura Santiago. 35. Single-mother. A couple of busts for shop lifting as a teen and young 20 year old. But why would Laura steal the biggest ticket items? If she needs money, judging from her file she’s barely making a living for herself and two sons, why not steal something small and insignificant? Why not just skim off the cashbox? Veronica has a feeling there’s more going on in this case than a poor Latina janitor suddenly deciding to steal original Aaron Echolls movie posters.

Veronica sighs, frustrated that her attempt at distraction was proving as answerless as the rest of her life. She buries her face in her hands for a minute before relenting and moving to scan a classifieds site for the missing items. Veronica glances around once. No one in the newspaper room ever questions her internet activities, not even Miss Dent. She could probably pass off her casework for an upcoming story if worst came to worse.

Veronica clicks through four pages before coming across the collectors set of signed Neptune Postcards, made for the 10th anniversary of the new zoning system. Among famous actors, athletes and business, Jake Kane smiles eerily back at her from the pictures. The listing is posted by Neptune Antiques and Pawn Shop—a blinking sign for stolen items if there ever was one. Veronica laughs at the thought of Kane Enterprises being thought of as antique—technology really did move fast. She had meant to find Mya Goodleaf, to see if she could offer up some background on her father, but here is a lead staring right in her face.

Keith is right again, asking her to check online, it irks Veronica as much as it makes her love him. Suddenly, the hot and cold feeling Veronica had felt when she first discovered Keith’s note of legal proceedings in the papers flares up again. Distraction, Veronica thinks. She could do better than just bring the classifieds entry back to her Dad—what better distraction than to pay Neptune Antiques and Pawn Shop a visit.

“Veronica?” Miss Dent materializes over her shoulder, blocking out the overhead fluorescent lights.

Veronica quickly exits the webpage, memorizing the address as she does. “Just some research—a story about Neptune attractions.”

Miss Dent gives her a tight-lipped smile, nods, and walks away. Attractions, distractions, same thing, Veronica thinks.

~~

The pawn shop is on the opposite side of Neptune from the high school, just off the main strip on the south side of town. The shops get shabbier and more dilapidated as Veronica nears her destination. Neptune Antiques and Pawn Shop looks more like an abandoned building full of trash than a business. She parks her car across the street between a dairy king and a car wash. The sun is low and long in the afternoon, cashing golden shadows down the street. The last of the daytime wanderers are in the process of leaving the streets, slowing being replaced by those who stalk the streets by night. A particularly menacing-looking man lounges in the stairwell next to the pawn shop. 

Veronica pauses before exiting her car to pull a pair of oversized plastic glasses and a cardigan from her glove department. Locking her car, she heads for the pawn shop. The door creaks as she enters, and a bell rings out through the dust to announce her presence. Veronica walks purposefully towards the counter, dwarfed behind boxes of assorted jewellery, and a pile of what looked to be dismantled ceiling chandeliers. The same moment Veronica notices there isn’t a soul behind the counter, the bell rings a second time and a voice rings menacing in her ear. 

“Help you with something, girlie?”

She turns to find the man from the stairwell staring down at her with cigarette-stale breath.

Veronica quickly composes herself. “Well, I heard you had the whole set of Neptune postcards. Signed!” she enthuses.

The man simply stares at her, still blocking the exit. His hair falls just past his ears, and is pulled back into a ponytail. He sports a substantial beard, dark brown to match both his straggly hair, and his oversized jean jacket. 

“I’m such a nerd for history you know. And movie stars. With Neptune they’re the same thing!” her voice falters a bit at the end but she recovers. 

Suddenly, the man grabs her arm and pushes her back into the pile of broken chandeliers. “You a cop?”

Veronica’s head spins wildly as to why this man immediately suspects she has a hidden motive. Buying time, she keeps up her movie-star nerd charade. “No,” she stammers, “I just wanted to see the postcards…unless you already sold them.” Veronica watches the man’s face fall as he starts to believe she really is simply a naïve student looking for collectable postcards. To drive the act home, Veronica turns on the tears. They are embarrassingly easy to come by.

“I only wanted to see the postcards really. I’ll leave right now!” The man releases her and she backs out the door and into another incoming body. 

“Stan,” a familiar voice calls out, “what are you doing with my girl?” 

“Weevil?” Veronica turns around to find her familiar ally behind her. 

Stan looks at them confusedly. “You know her?” he says, gesturing to Veronica. 

“Never mind how I know. Don’t touch her again, you hear?” The scene before Veronica would almost be comical if her heart wasn’t still thudding in her chest. Weevil is nearly five inches shorter, and about 10 years younger than Stan, yet Weevil seems to be intimidating him. 

They exit the pawn shop and cross street. Weevil takes his hand off Veronica’s shoulder as soon as they get out of sight of the shop. His bike is parked next to her Le Baron. 

“You okay?” Weevil turns to look her in the eye. 

“I was fine in there, he was letting me go,” she says, indignant, scrubbing the faux-tears off her face. 

Weevil makes no comment, instead asking another question. “Why were you there in the first place?”

“Oh you know, tracking down some fine Neptune collectables. I’m really into vintage postcards.” 

“From a drug dealer?” Weevil looks at her incredulously, ignoring her deadpan remark about collectables. 

“Come again?” Veronica stops, midway through opening her car door. 

“That shop—“ Weevil gestures across the street, “is a front for a dealing drugs. Kind of a Fitzpatrick side project. Couple PCHer rejects too. Stan’s not too bright though, probably won’t even remember you coming in by tomorrow.” 

Veronica narrows her eyes at him. “You know all this how?” 

“Look I don’t know much, I’m not stupid enough to get involved with any of that shit. But you hear things.” 

Veronica nods, accepting the answer. 

“You gonna tell me why you were there now?” he pushes. 

“I could ask the same of you.” 

“I saw you heading this way. Figured wherever you went, trouble tends to follow.” 

“Yeah, well I didn’t need any help,” she restates. 

He shrugs and swings a leg over his bike, “Well you ever need something, you know where to find me.” 

Veronica gets into her car and starts the ignition. She shakes her head, annoyed at herself. She has faced many more threatening experiences in her life, so why wouldn’t her hands stop shaking. And to top it off, the visit didn’t yield any more results…if anything the ties between the missing museum artifacts and the ramshackle drug front made the case more confusing. 

Veronica can’t shake the feeling of Weevil’s hand on the small of her back. The look of not just an obligation for a favour, but care and concern in his dark eyes. Stop it, she tells herself. She doesn’t need to complicate her life anymore by adding Weevil into the mix of people for which her feelings are complicated. Weevil was her ally, sure, maybe even friend. But nothing more than that.

~~

“Where were you?” Keith asks as Veronica enters their apartment. 

“Just looking into something,” she evades, “turned out to be nothing.” 

Keith hands her a plate of spaghetti, then reaches for a plate to dish out his own serving. “You know when I ask you to monitor online auction traffic for a case, that’s all I’m asking you to do.” 

“I know,” Veronica agrees. “It was nothing, anyways.” 

Keith eyes her but doesn’t say anything. They settle at their table on the edge of the counter, eating their spaghetti in silence. A few moments later, Keith speaks again. “Nothing on eBay? No online proprietors looking to score a deal on the heads of our gracious 09er founders?” he ends the phrase heaped in sarcasm. 

Veronica shakes her head. 

“Well better check again, ‘cause look what I found this evening?” He produces a computer print-out of a different for-sale site, offering instead the 5th anniversary collectable post cards, this time from a ‘spike18’. 

Veronica raises her eyebrows at her father’s glee. 

“What do you say we shoot old spike a message? I play a pretty good postcard collector.”

So that’s where I get it from, Veronica thinks. But why are there two postings for the nearly the same ‘artifact’. And why on earth is this case connected to a drug dealing front. Veronica knows she should pass the information along to her dad. But, another part of her counters, it would make more sense to figure out more before telling him what she knows. The two postings might not even be related. And a small bitter part of Veronica was still a little upset and angry with father for posting his note of legal proceeding seeking Lianne Mars, and enjoys the knowledge he doesn’t yet have. 

Veronica lies in bed that night turning the case over in her head. It’s a deliberate method she uses when all she can see behind her closed eyes is Lilly’s face. The postcards are the best lead they’ve come across, tangible evidence of the crime committed. But drug dealers hardly seem the type to go to the effort of stealing museum artifacts, especially not Fitzpatricks and rejected PCHers, practically the anti-09ers. And then there is the existence of none less than two collectable postcard sets.

The information exposing Neptune Pawn Shop and Antiques is convincing, but it’s only identified as such by Weevil. To tackle the angle further, Veronica needs either her father’s network of sympathetic law enforcement personnel, or to talk to Weevil again. Either the man trying to break up their family for good. 

Or the one whose touch ran shivers up her spine, even while she is supposed to be grieving her break-up with Logan. Even when she is grieving her break up with Logan. Focus, distraction, Veronica tells herself. Spinning between telling her father about the Pawn Shop, or calling Weevil. Admitting she’s ignoring her father again, working on a case she technically isn’t supposed to access. Or talking to Weevil—“you know where to find me.”

The April night is dark, but a nearly full moon pours light into Veronica’s bedroom. Keith has the television at low volume down the hall; sportscasters’ voices murmur softly. Veronica tosses to her side, and then back again. Finally, reached above her and grabs her cellphone, dialing the number before she gives herself a chance to think. 

“V,” Weevil answers. “You better not need a ride again. I don’t mind, but chica, I’m not a taxi service.”

Veronica flushes hot at the memory of him arriving to find her, still shaken, on the curb in front of Logan’s house. 

“Yeah, sorry, I often confuse the big yellow car and your shiny black motorbike,” she snarks, slightly defensive. 

“What do you need? Just wanna hear my voice?” Veronica can almost picture the smirk on his face. 

“Always,” she deadpans. She speaks again before he has a chance to respond, to discern her sarcasm from disguised truth. “You said that place was a distribution spot right?”

“I have nothing to do with it, if you don’t trust me V, that’s your problem.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you.” Did she trust Weevil? “Do they sell stuff—antiques—too, or is it just a front.” 

"I don’t know,” he says bluntly. 

Well how did you know about the business in the first place?”

“You call me up just to interrogate me, or is there a purpose to this night chat?” He doesn’t sound angry, but he’s clearly on the road to frustration.

“I’m working a case, I need to know if their listings online are the real deal or just some cover up bullshit.” Veronica matches his even tone, feigning nonchalance. Pretending the case is the only reason to she can’t sleep. 

There is a moment’s pause before Weevil answers. 

“I think they sell stuff too, but it’s mostly just a front. Not a real upstanding business, you know?” 

Veronica can’t help but feel vindicated, that Weevil did know more than he let on. 

“Where do they get the stuff from? Do you think they buy from other collectors?” she presses. 

“Veronica.” His voice calling her full name sends a sharp tingle up her spine. “I don’t know,” he punctuates every word. 

He sighs quietly, “Bootsie has a brother, real mixed up in drugs and that. Never was a PCHer. He doesn’t talk about him much, but yeah, that’s how I know. And that’s all you’re getting from me, I don’t spill anyone’s secrets, not even to you.”

_Not even to you_. As if maybe, he would tell her things he wouldn’t tell anyone else. 

Veronica wants to ask Weevil for Bootsie’s brother’s name. Wants to grill him for every possible lead, as if solving the case of missing artifacts will solve everything else. 

Instead, she lets silence envelop the line, and hears Weevil’s soft breath on the other end.

“You still there?” Weevil’s voice crackles through her cellphone. 

“Yeah,” she says, unable to think of a better response. “Thanks for the help.”

“I’ll help you out anytime.” He replies, somehow insinuating more than simply doling out information about potential drug dealers. 

She is about to hang up when Weevil speaks again, “What sort of case does the Sheriff have you working on?”

“Oh, someone might be stealing stuff from the museum.” She says, before realizing she really should stop giving out the case information so freely.

Weevil laughs sharply, “A museum thief?”

“Night, Weevil” Veronica finishes, and damn if she doesn’t sound even more flirty than usual. 

“Night, V.” 

~~

A few quick searches tell Veronica that Bootsie’s brother is otherwise known as Daniel Santiago. They are none other than cousins with Laura, the accused night janitor of the museum. Could Laura be the thief? Sneak off with some high ticket items for celebrity collectors, make a few bucks, stick it to the 09ers and help legitimize her cousin’s business all in one go? 

Veronica is sitting at Mars Investigations after school. The rain hitting the windows means business is slow, only the most desperate venturing out to seek their counsel. But the internet here is better than at her house, and the lack of clients mean Veronica has the radio turned up next to her. 

"Who’s the best fake postcard collector in the house?" Keith proclaims as he exits his office and slaps a piece of paper on Veronica's desk. 

She turns the music down. "That's debatable. What did you find?" Veronica pushes away a stack of manila case files to get a clearer look at the piece of paper. 

"Sent a message to Spike18, simply inquiring about the set of collectable postcards and bam, that's a traceable computer IP address right there." He points at the paper again proudly. 

"So?" Veronica says eagerly. Although he wanted to be the one to solve the case, the thrill of any breakthrough is contagious. 

"The message was sent..." Keith pauses, almost as if for dramatic effect, "from the Goodleaf house themselves." He leans back on the door frame of his office door and regards Veronica's reaction. 

"If not cheating wife, then vengeful wife?" She hazards. 

"Did a bit of digging...Mr. Goodleaf's wife divorced him last year. He lives alone," Keith replies. 

"He's double timing us? Gets insurance money for the stolen artifacts, which he turns around and sells to pay for his divorce settlement." This most likely clears Laura Santiago. Though how the same set of postcards showed up at the Neptune Antiques and Pawn Shop is still up in the air. 

"Certainly looks that way." Keith nods, affirming his own hunch. 

"No wonder he didn't want to police involved." Veronica observes dryly. She suddenly feels fiercely protective of her father, and his job as a P.I. Private Investigation was not the most glamorous job, but to think that Mr. Goodleaf had truly thought he could pull a fast one her father infuriates Veronica. 

"I think it's time I do a little uncover at the museum, no?" Keith asks with the air of someone inquiring about the weather. He turns to look out the window at the downpour, and then back at Veronica. 

Veronica is still a little upset with her father. The thought of divorce piercing a little close to her guarded insecurities. But for Steven Goodleaf to underestimate Keith, he deserves to be taken down by Keith as well. 

~~

"Uh Veronica," Wallace interrupts her train of thoughts, "I think that's for you." He gestures over her shoulder. They are sitting, once again eating lunch in the Neptune High courtyard. Although it’s only the end of April, the sun beams bright and hot, making the lunch tables more akin to a kiln than a cafeteria. 

Veronica turns to see Weevil holding his glance steady on her, leaning against the corner of the school. She feels her face flush hot. 

"I'll take care of it," she says to Wallace, getting up from her seat. 

"This your new thing now, leering at me from the corner,” she says as she approaches Weevil. 

"I can't help it if I like what I see." 

Veronica wrinkles her face at his comment, playing the back and forth cat and mouse game they use to communicate. 

"I was thinking since I helped you out last night, you could help me out." 

"Why does it sound dirty when you say it?" 

"It can be if you like." He takes a step closer to her, closing the gap of what little space they had between them.

"What do you need?" Veronica says business-like while taking a step backwards.

She needs answers or distractions in her life, not more complications. 

He snaps out of his innuendo-laced posturing, and looks almost timid. 

"There's an English test tomorrow, heard you had the keys to all the classrooms, and master filing cabinet key." He makes his face blank and innocent. 

"You called me over here to ask me to cheat for you?" Veronica stares at him hard.

"Or maybe I just wanted to talk to you." His statement would sound sappy coming out of anyone else's mouth, but from Weevil it sounds like a challenge. 

Veronica decides not to touch his last sentence, instead addressing the previous question. 

"No I don't have keys to every classroom, and I know for a fact I can't get into Daniels classroom without a lot of unnecessary effort." 

Weevil blows out a slightly annoyed breath. 

"But," Veronica continues. Weevil glances up at her from under his lashes. "I did have Daniels for English last year, he uses the same tests every time." 

He looks at her, perplexed.

"What do you say to a study date?" Immediately warning bells start going off in Veronica's head. What possesses her to invite Weevil, especially after their increasingly friendly interaction? But with Keith handling the museum case, she either needs a new lead on Lilly's case, or another distraction. Weevil could prove to be just that. 

"We could make it more than a study break." Weevil rakes his eyes up and down Veronica standing in front of him. 

"Well that depends on how much Shakespeare I have to teach you," she retorts. 

~~

"The artifacts always disappear on a Wednesday," Keith points out as they sit in front of the television after dinner. 

"We knew that before," Veronica replies. 

"Yes but that was when we still thought Ms. Santiago was the potential thief. A chance when Mr. Goodleaf wasn't around, board meeting or something." 

"But if Mr. Goodleaf is stealing them...he has to be sneaking back in." 

"Exactly." Keith exclaims.

“So I could…” Veronica starts.

“So I won’t be home tomorrow night.”

“I could do it.” Veronica suggests. 

“And remember, I’m your father, so I would know if you let anyone of the male gender into the house,” he continues. 

Veronica opens her mouth to speak, but is cut off again by her dad, “or if you sneak out.” 

_Would you?_ Veronica thinks.

“Nothing gets by my father-radar.” Keith thumps himself on the chest jokingly. 

“Whatever helps you feel better,” Veronica says drolly, to hide the truth in her statement. Inwardly, she wonders if her dad knows of her recent secret relationship Logan. She shudders. Veronica hopes he doesn’t, if only to avoid having to explain to him exactly how they “broke up”. Lying there on his bed in the pool house, wholly happy for once, even after being outed in front of all the 09ers who had made life hell for the past. And then, noticing the thin wiring overhead, the cold dread of finding the video equipment. She had needed to get out of the pool house, and called the only person she knew wouldn’t ask any questions. 

Which leads Veronica to her burgeoning friendship with Weevil. She can no longer delude herself into thinking they were simply allies, or business associates. The trickle of warmth she feels every time she ends up talking to him, the opposite of the cold spread of alarm she felt in the Echoll’s pool house, is more than casual. Weevil, out of everyone, implicitly trusts Veronica. He never asks her questions; he trusts her judgement; he has faith in her abilities to take care of herself. He’s simply always there, literally, when she calls.

But, Veronica tells herself, he’s still the leader of a motorcycle gang. No matter how openly they flirt, he isn’t going to stop stealing cars. Weevil trusts Veronica, but it scares Veronica to imagine having the same amount of trust in Weevil as naturally as he seems to have in her. 

She considers for a moment, calling Weevil to tell him they could no longer study tomorrow night. There are many things that her dad doesn’t know, nonetheless, his sense of when Veronica spends time with a boy is uncannily accurate. But the relationship between Veronica and Weevil is built on the exchange of favours; to back out on him now feels like breaking every code they have established. 

Veronica continues silently, half-heartedly watching the television, hoping her father will interpret her quiet as agreement. 

~~

Both Veronica and Keith’s plans are unravelled the next morning, when Keith gets wind of a bail jumper from one of his contacts in approaching the USA/Mexico border outside of Tucson, Arizona. 

“I can still look around tonight,” Veronica offers. 

“Veronica,” Keith warns. 

“I won’t expose myself, just surveillance.” The promise of completing what she had started on the case appeals to Veronica. As does the ability to credibly back out of a night that would contatin far too much alone time with Weevil to be a good idea. 

“The case can wait,” Keith tells her firmly, “Study. Watch a movie. Do something a normal teenager would do.”

Veronica softens her face, giving her dad ‘the look’, unsure of why she was fighting so hard to stake out the museum. Did she want to impress her dad? To prove that she could keep their family together? Or did she want to solve the case as some sort of messed-up revenge for his legal proceeding notices? Most likely, some incomprehensible combination of both. Veronica tamps down all the thoughts of her family, focussing her eye contact on her father. 

Keith gives Veronica a suffering look. “Take Backup. Even though it’s in a pretty ritzy area. And Veronica—”

She looks up at her father, feigning innocence. 

“Surveillance only, you hear? No following Mr. Goodleaf, no obvious photography.”

“I’ll have a car booked for you when you get off the plane.” She leans over to hug her dad.

“Love you, kiddo.” He plants a kiss on her head. 

“Love you too.”

~~

Veronica fiddles with the phone in her lap, her fingering hovering over the call button next to Weevil’s name. Finally, she makes up her mind and lifts the phone to her ear. When Weevil answers, Veronica launches straight into speech. “How would you feel about studying while accompanying me on stakeout?” Why, she questions inwardly, why invite chaos? She has no answers for herself.

On the other end, Weevil laughs. “As long as you’re gonna help me figure out what the hell is going on in English, I’m in.” His words are innocent, but he ends his phrase with a suggestion of more. Veronica feels a fluttering build in her stomach, which she immediately attempts to ignore.

Weevil fights her suggestion to pick him up at his house, suggesting instead to meet her at the museum on his bike. Veronica, however, points out that his bike is hardly inconspicuous. He compromises by driving first to Veronica’s apartment.

“Gonna catch the museum thief?” Weevil greets her as she opens the door for him.

“That’s the plan.” Veronica grabs her bag, and her camera, ushering Weevil back out of her apartment and into the parking lot. She keeps expecting him to demand more information about the case, not that she would be forthcoming, client privacy and all that. But still, Weevil seems content to follow her to the car. To trust that she knows what she was doing. She wonders how he got the night off to come with her, and what were the PCHers are doing without him.

They are silent once Veronica pulls her car onto the road in front of the apartment complex. She has spent extended periods of time with Weevil before; looking for the drug-laden piñata from Troy’s car; studying for his math test in Mars Investigations; travelling to Rest Stop Nine looking for the missing parrot. But never for a stakeout, never this late at night, and never with this electrical feeling sitting like a ball of fire between them.

She parks in front of the Neptune Museum. A white stucco building with large white columns framing the ornate wooden doors. A row of palm trees swaying gently in the wind stand guard at the corners of the building. Long banners hanging from the upper most storey announce the opening of the show “Neptune’s Greats: Movie Stars, Athletes and Tech Geniuses.”

“So Daniels is really big on making you memorize characters, and symbols.” Veronica speaks to break the silence. She moves to open her camera case and fix her lens.

Veronica speaks to break the silence. She moves to open her camera case and fix her lens. 

Weevil nods, keeping his eyes fixed on Veronica. 

They speak haltingly of English class for a few minutes before the conversation lapses back into quiet. The silence threatens to overwhelm the situation. Weevil is inches away from Veronica now. She thinks about him coming to pick her up that night at Logan’s. The feeling of his back pressed up against her. The way he didn’t push her to explain, just dropped her off at her apartment, and watched to make sure she unlocked the door and went inside. No questions asked.

Veronica always asks questions. She’s occupied by the quest for answers, or a distraction from the fact that she doesn’t have any. 

“Veronica,” Weevil says quietly, huskily with a hint of question. He rarely says her full name; it sounds good. 

Could she do it? Weevil’s trust scares her more than the thought of his doubt. Because it comes down to asking the question, did she trust Weevil? 

Veronica leans in towards him. 

She wants to, maybe that is enough.

~~

The sweep of headlights turning down the street catches Veronica’s attention. The slam of a car door fully pulls her from whatever has been happening between her and Weevil. Weevil’s eyes snap to hers, sharp and dark. A far cry from the nearly closed, meltingly-warm look he had given her mere seconds earlier. 

A tall, slender girl exits the vehicle. She’s wearing all black—a pair of designer jeans and a hoodie with a volleyball stitched onto the back. Her long blonde hair is tied up in a ponytail and swishes across her back. 

“That your suspect?” Weevil asks quietly from behind her. 

Veronica doesn’t know how to respond to Weevil after their near-intimate moment. In response, Veronica hoists up her camera and snaps a few pictures. Answers, or distraction, her mind chants. 

She picks both. 

“Want to figure out?” she asks Weevil as slides off her seat and opens the car door. 

They creep across the street. Veronica tries the door, and is pleasantly surprised to find it unlocked. They tiptoe past displays in the darkened corridors. The history of Neptune—old contour maps and pictures of old wooden settlements. The exhibit jumps to a smiling Jake Kane, poster boards describing exactly how he perfected streaming video. A large flat-screen TV lies dark across the hallway, Veronica sees herself and Weevil reflected back in it. Walking at the same pace, but not quite next to each other. They round a corner, and Veronica sees the mystery girl stooped over a display, carefully unlocking it and removing original copies of signed movie premiere tickets. 

“Say cheese!” Veronica steps out into the open, and snaps a photo of her removing the artifacts from the case. 

The girl whirls around, her hair flying out behind her. 

“Who are you?” she sneers. 

Veronica moves towards her, “Mya.” 

“How do you know my name?” She looks frightened.

“I think a better question is, why are you stealing the museum’s oh-so-precious 09er propaganda?” Veronica retorts. 

“I know you,” she interrupts, understanding dawning on her face. “You’re Veronica Ma…”

“Veronica Mars, yes, keep up, now answer the question.” Answers, always answers. 

Mya’s composure drops. She hunches her shoulders, and stuffs her arms in her pockets. But her voice remains steely as she speaks looking at the floor. “He didn’t even notice it was me. He hired a PI for god’s sakes, instead of actually talking to his only daughter.” 

“He thought it was Laura, the night caretaker,” Veronica says bluntly. 

“Of course,” she says bitterly. “He thinks of anyone else before me.” 

“So you did this all, for attention?” Weevil steps forward, looking both menacing and confused at the same time. Veronica had nearly forgotten he was there. She could tell he had little patience for those who committed crimes with both poor reason and poor execution. And even less when those crimes were nearly pinned on the most convenient scapegoat. 

“I wanted to hurt him,” she says quietly, viciously. Mya seemed to be a contradiction. Popular 09er, and petty thief. Angry and quiet. Tough eyes and buckling knees. Veronica cocks her head at Mya. 

He made her leave. I wanted to take away the things he loved most too. This stupid museum. All the stupid 09er crap he puts all over the walls to make them think we’re one of them.”

“You are stealing stuff to get back at your dad for divorcing your mom?” Veronica asks slowly. 

Mya’s eyes snap back up, challenging her. “What’s it to, you?” 

Veronica doesn’t have an immediate answer for her.

“Look,” she continues, “are you gonna turn me in, or what?” 

Veronica shrugs, Mya’s words still pounding in her head. _He made her leave._ Did Keith make Lianne leave? Did the Kanes? Isn’t Veronica doing the same thing, punishing those who were responsible for her mom’s disappearance, for her dad’s potential divorce? 

“I think that’s up to your dad,” she finally replies. 

All three of them pause. Then Mya slowly turns and shuts the case. Challenging Veronica with a stare, she puts the signed tickets back in the case and stalks down the hallway. 

~~

“After all this, and some white chick is stealing stuff ‘cause she’s mad at her dad?” Weevil shakes his head incredulously once they have excited the silent, looming museum.

“What happened to the good old slashing his tires?” Veronica jokes back. 

They cross the street back to her car. The palm trees cast long shadows in the streetlights. The standoff between them and Mya seems to breathe some normalcy back into their relationship. Weevil is an ally, and more than that, a friend. Veronica has a track record with dating her friends, perpetually suspicious of their intentions, often with good reason. Yet the relationship somehow always ends with them screwing her over, or freezing her out. And Weevil has a track record of trusting too easily, too fully. 

The combination of them would be a ticking bomb, just waiting to explode. 

But as allies, friends, they have each other. To find answers, to be a distraction, or simply to walk together at the same pace, slightly out of sync. 

“The one thing I can’t figure out though,” Veronica turns to look at Weevil as she starts her car, “Is how another set of postcards ended up at the Neptune Antiques and Pawn Shop.” 

“Some Fitzpatrick wannabe is also a rare postcard collector?” Weevil looks at her with fake-seriousness, before breaking into a grin.

“After this case, anything might be possible.” They laugh. 

~~

“Did you catch him?” Veronica asks Keith as he enters into their apartment. 

He stops and looks at her, “Who’s your daddy?” He holds his arms out wide. 

Veronica responds by enveloping him in a hug. 

“Usually you tell me how much you hate me saying that,” Keith remarks, “What is this for?”

“Because I don’t want to steal the things you love the most.” Veronica replies.

“That’s good.” Keith releases his grip and holds her at arm’s length, “and cryptic.” 

“Oh and I got pictures of our thief,” Veronica adds. 

Answers. Distractions. They come and go, but there are some people you could maybe, just maybe, count on. When things are about to fall apart, when thoughts of Logan and Lilly and her mother and every else this threaten to overwhelm her, she doesn’t want to destroy the things the people she counts on love most. She wants to hold tight and keep those people with her. 

~~

Epilogue

Veronica unlocks the door, the California sun hot and bright as always. An unfamiliar scent greets her as she opens the door. Cooking, like her mom used to do.

“Honey, I’m home.”


End file.
